Deep in the ever-steaming Jungles of Theb, an almost cozy fire burned fitfully against the mists. A rude camp was made nearby, nestled on one of the dozens of tiny islets that dot the swampy tangle of mangroves and vines. A great figure rose slowly out of the water and came to rest near the fire, a looming shadow with gleaming yellow eyes.
In its massive hands were two fat jungle fish, which were quickly filleted and set to frying in a primitive rough hammered pan. Soon a delicious fragrance of cooking meat wafted from the camp along with the camp smoke. The figure didn’t seem to heed that the smell may attract unwanted attention in a wilderness brimming with deadly predators.
The figure wasn’t particularly worried, in the way in that you wouldn’t be worried to cook food in your home- the Jungle was his home. Or, at least it was. He was leaving now. His village didn’t know yet, but he had no family to miss him, so it mattered little. In fact, this was part of why he had to leave.
The fate of his parents was never made known to him. All he knew was that from his earliest memories, he had been a sort of shared child in the village. Yes the others cared for him, but he belonged to no one. Whenever he became inconvenient, he was passed around. He tried to help each family he came to, but it was always the same. When the food became scarce, they looked after their own children first.
The only one that really took a lasting interest was the Shaman. She was a mysterious woman, her mind always in two places at least. She was powerful, and held sway over fierce magical forces. It was widely known that it was she, more than any other, that guarded the safety of the village.
Despite her great power, she was absolutely vile. A gruesome creature by all accounts; the piles of bones around her hut came in all shapes and sizes, and bore all sorts of strange burns, slashes, crushes, that told the imagination grim tales. She spat constantly when she spoke. Her stench was so fierce and raw that it ranked with her magic.
Still, she took him in, and began to teach him how to speak with spirits, and how to reach between worlds. How to make things be as he wanted them to be, by willing it; how take control of the minds of those weaker than him, whether animal or man.
Still, the day had come when he had seen his last sacrifice. He had been ordered to slay some captives for a feast that evening; their helpless whimpering had punctured the rough hide of his savage heart. His yellow eyes still gleamed, but lost any hint of the cruelty his race was known for. Instead a soft kindness glowed forth. He crushed the locks with his bare hands and set them free, though it meant running off into the waiting jaws of jungle beasts.
His people…his people were the true monsters. He saw it now. All around him was horror. He had to leave. This was not the way of the spirits as he felt it in his heart and bones. This was evil.
Though it meant there would be some secrets the witch would never teach him, he turned his back on his home and left, venturing out into the wide, wild world.
A journey which started with a damp campfire, a soggy dive for dinner, and a quiet, somber evening surrounded by the sounds of the never-sleeping jungle.
